


darlington 500

by nicole_writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Cars, Alternate Universe - Nascar, Basically Just A Lot of Sylvain Flirting, F/M, First Meetings, Flirting, Journalist Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Race car driver Sylvain Jose Gautier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29649246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes
Summary: Ingrid's only in town to get the scoop on the new racer that's hitting the circuits lately. The Darlington 500 is in just over a week and it would be nice if she could actually track down this rookie driver. The redheaded guy flirting with her certainly isn't helping her focus.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 33





	darlington 500

**Author's Note:**

> in which i joked about Sylvain and Ingrid just being Lightning McQueen and Sally from Cars and then accidentally got an idea for a real fic. But then accidentally proceeded to lead the sylvgrid discord on a wild goose chase by saying i was writing A REAL CARS AU. Which......I wish I could do. And honestly, for the memes, I tried to write an added scene of that ridiculous crack au, but I couldn't do it. Maybe someday I'll be strong enough. 
> 
> For now though, enjoy an AU.....that has cars...... and some 1950s slang ;) 
> 
> if you want to see the cast of Three Houses cast into Cars (2005), then the sylvgrid discord is (apparently) the place for you. You can join the craziness [here](https://discord.gg/5jK3pShsHW)
> 
> As for my craziness, I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nicolewrites37). and i'm not saying pestering me about the Cars AU may actually make the Cars AU happen, but who knows....

South Carolina is _hot_ in August. The sun is blazing in a crystal blue sky overhead and it beats down on Ingrid in an unfamiliar way. She’s sure that by the end of the day she’ll have sweat right through her blouse in a wholly unpleasant way, but dipping out for the afternoon now is absolutely not an option. 

She’s here to find someone and she refuses to give up until she finds him. 

According to all of her sources, he is supposed to be here today practicing or, at the very least, supervising some work on his engine. Unfortunately for Ingrid, she’s been waiting at the stadium all day to see the bright blue Chevrolet hit the track for practice and it hasn’t even come out of its shed. 

She squints through her shades towards the track below her as the red Ford rolls to a stop over the finish line. She lifts her notebook, fanning herself with it a bit, but then almost drops it when a voice cuts through the haze of the afternoon. 

“Kierman isn’t the one you should be looking out for on the track.”

Ingrid jolts, slamming her notebook down in her lap and looking over her shoulder. Standing on the stairs that lead up the bleachers a few feet away is a young man. He has his hands tucked in the pockets of his grey slacks and there’s a cigarette just peeking out of the pocket of his pastel blue shirt. He has bright red hair and honey-brown eyes that twinkle mischievously. He’s wearing a cocky smirk that tells her he knows exactly how handsome he is. 

“He isn’t?” she asks curiously. “And why not?”

The man shrugs, his smirk not dropping a bit. “Because they’re saying the new blood will have this race in the bag. Besides, what’s a Ford got on a Chevy this year?” He looks back down at the car that’s just rolling off the racetrack. “That thing is basically a tank.”

“New blood?” Ingrid presses. “Are you talking about Gautier?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “So even a pretty lady like you has heard the rumours,” he drawls. 

She frowns at him. “I’m a reporter,” she corrects. He doesn’t bat an eye. “My paper sent me here to interview him.”

“Really? And what makes you think you’ll actually be able to sit down with him? I’ve heard he’s very elusive,” the man says. There’s a lightness to his tone that makes Ingrid think that he’s teasing her, but she has no idea why he would be. 

“I’m not fond of taking no for an answer,” she says simply. Her thumb rubs across the cover of her notebook. She already has her whole list of questions written out so that she can throw them at him as quickly as possible. “I’ll find a way.”

The man chuckles, amused. “Ain’t no harm in tryin’, I suppose.” He climbs up two stairs, getting closer to her. 

The way that he looks at her, Ingrid suddenly feels the urge to hide behind her shades. He has the same mischievous glint in his eyes as all the troublemakers tend to, nevermind that the rest of him is just as physically appealing as his face. She looks away from him instead, watching as a yellow Ford takes the place of Kierman’s car for practice. 

“Does a pretty lady like yourself have a name?”

She sighs. “Not one for you to use,” she replies shortly. With that, she stands up, brushing her pants off and turning away from him. Ingrid walks the long way across the row of bleachers to the opposite stairs so that she doesn’t have to move past him. 

She hears his footsteps following her all the way down the stairs and through the tunnel to the back edge of the stadium. At that point, she huffs and pivots to face him, crossing her arms. He is still wearing his cocky smile and he looks completely unapologetic for following her. 

“Do I need to yell for security to get a stalker off my tail?” she snaps. 

He chuckles, more amused by the threat than she had been expecting. “No need for threats,” he says calmly. “I was just going to offer to introduce you to Gautier if that was what you really wanted.”

Ingrid stops and frowns again, looking the man up and down. By the way that he’s dressed, she can guess he’s probably a rich boy, probably the son of one of the big sponsors. He has that lazy air of smugness around him which tells her that he’s also used to getting his way. She’s never been particularly fond of his _type_. 

“No thank you,” she says. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”

He gives her another appraising look. “You really are stubborn, aren’t you, pretty lady?”

“Will you stop calling me that?”

“Will you give me a name so I don’t have to?” 

Ingrid puts a hand on her hip. “The more you ask, the less inclined I am to actually tell you.”

He laughs at that. “I guess that’s true.” He looks like he’s about to say something else when a shout cuts him off. 

“Hey! Gautier! Are you coming or what?”

Ingrid spins, startled, and spots a man in a pit crew uniform waving in their direction. Suddenly, she realizes who the stranger is referring too and she wheels back to face the redheaded man. He looks smug as he raises an eyebrow at her. 

Ingrid sputters. “You’re Gautier?”

He winks. “I dunno, pretty lady. Am I inclined to give my name out to strangers?”

Her mouth opens and closes in her surprise. She has no idea what she is supposed to say to this. Every question she is supposed to ask the race car driver vacates her mind immediately and she is left floundering as he shoots her one last wink before sauntering off towards the man that had called for him. Ingrid does nothing but watch him saunter away. 

She tightens her grip on her notebook as he rounds the corner and then her mind finally seems to restart. She jolts forward, breaking into a jog as she hurries after him, trying not to trip on her shoes. 

“Hey!” 

He doesn’t go far. His shed isn’t far away and the door is open so Ingrid steps in quickly, flipping open the cover of her notebook. Both the driver and the other man look at her as she steps in. Gautier looks amused to see that she has pursued him, but his friend mostly just looks annoyed.

“What do you want?” the grumpy man asks, scowling. “This isn’t a designated press time.”

The driver waves him off. “It’s alright, Felix. I can handle one reporter.” He grins at her. “Might even be good for my image.”

Felix scoffs and looks between Ingrid and the driver. Ingrid stands her ground, refusing to be intimidated by the sharp look on his face. She registers the annoyance as it widens and Felix huffs, dropping the wrench he had been holding to brush past her out of the shed, leaving her and the driver alone. 

The shed door closes behind him and Ingrid shifts her weight, suddenly a bit uncomfortable. “You knew I was looking for you and you didn’t introduce yourself,” she says. “Why?” 

He shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe I wanted you to actually meet me first instead of the legend that all those papers seem to be intent on capturing.” He runs a hand through his hair, his smile hardly slipping. 

She puts a hand on her hip. “Will you give me the interview now?”

He considers it for a moment before he replies. “Nope,” he says brightly. He turns away from her, popping the hood on the race car that’s in front of him. 

Indignation flares in Ingrid and she marches forward, rounding the side of the car until she’s standing next to it. She plants one hand on the edge of the hood, frowning at him. 

“Why not? You were so eager to talk to me earlier.”

He chuckles and leans back from the car. He reaches up, carefully detaching Ingrid’s hand, as he studies her. “Because I thought you were cute. Turns out you’ve got a lot more spunk than I thought you would at first sight.” Ingrid almost feels offended, but he continues smoothly: “The spunk is cute too, don’t worry.”

Ingrid sighs. “Will you at least give me a first name? Everyone is just calling you Gautier, or Rookie, but I imagine that you have a different name, don’t you?”

He nods slowly. “Alright, I guess I can give you that much.” He extends a hand. “I’m Sylvain.”

Ingrid shakes his hand slowly. His palm is warm and rough, but he doesn’t really have the hands of a man who has worked his whole life. Her initial guess—rich boy—still seems to hold some merit even now that she knows who she is talking to.

“So, Sylvain Gautier, you’re a rookie stock car racer,” she says.

He shrugs. “I like to go fast.” He looks down into the exposed engine of his car, smiling. “Cheyenne’s good for speed.”

Ingrid blinks. “Cheyenne?”

“The car, of course. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

Ingrid takes a moment to study the car. Really, it is a beautiful car. She doesn’t know much about race cars compared to ordinary cars, but it is a nice-looking car. Its paint job is immaculate and all its silver pieces seem to be polished to absolute perfection. It’s definitely a far cry from the beat-up, eight-year-old 1949 Ford that she drives.

“You named your car,” she muses.

He laughs. “Of course. All the pros do. It’s a tradition in the sport.”

Ingrid racks her brain for the background information she had learned about race car drivers and their cars before she had accepted this gig. “Don’t driver not usually own their cars? They’re often rentals from suppliers or their team owner, right?”

She looks up at him as she speaks. He looks mildly impressed. He clearly hadn’t actually expected her to be knowledgeable about cars, much less the specifics of race cars and ownership. “It helps,” he explains, “that my father owns my team.”

She snaps her fingers. “I was right! You are a rich kid.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Rich kid?”

“Tell me that I’m wrong,” she pushes. “Daddy comes from money, doesn’t he?”

Sylvain shrugs. “I guess he does.”

“How does your relationship with your father influence your career as a racer?” she asks.

Sylvain steps closer to her, his smirk widening. “I see what you’re doing here.”

Ingrid winces. That last question had been a bit overt. “Oh?” she says, trying to play it off. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “You’re fishing for information and I almost fell for it.” One of his hands comes up and boldly brushes back a piece of her hair. “It really does help you that you’re cute and you wear your determination really well.”

Ingrid stumbles back, almost tripping. She ends up grabbing the roof of the car to balance herself as she moves away from the driver. “Well,” she says abruptly, “if you don’t want to sit for a real interview, I guess I can leave you be.”

She pockets her notebook and adjusts her blouse, moving to step around him. He reaches out at the last second to catch her by the elbow.

“Wait,” he says.

Ingrid looks at him. Their eyes lock and her heart flutters in her chest. Immediately, she internally curses herself. It doesn’t matter how cute or charming the driver is if he won’t give her the interview that she needs for her job.

“What?”

“You know,” he says slowly, “if you were to, I don’t know, keep coming around for the next week you might wear me down enough to give that interview.”

Ingrid stiffens. “Oh?”

His eyes dart down, tracking over her. “You’re interesting to me, pretty lady. Most women are all over me, but you’re not. I like your spunk. You’re not some typical paper shaker.” He pauses. “You’re prettier than one, anyway.”

The compliment draws an unintended flush into her cheeks and she pulls away from him, stepping closer to the doors of the shed. “What time are you on the track tomorrow?” she asks.

He considers. “Probably nine.”

She takes another step towards the shed, extending a hand to the wooden door. “Right. Well, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He leans against his car and grins. “I guess so, pretty lady. But, I must insist, if you’re going to keep pestering me, I should get to know your name. It’s the least you can do if you’re distracting me, right? The Darlington 500 is a big deal after all.” His voice is light and teasing and she knows that she doesn’t have to tell him her name, but, frustratingly, his flirting seems to be wearing down her defences more than she wants to admit.

She pushes open the shed door. The bright South Carolina sun dazzles her for a minute and she has half a mind to step out the door and disappear, but she hesitates. There isn’t really any harm to him knowing her name, especially if it means he’ll sit for that interview.

“It’s Ingrid.”


End file.
